Mr & Mr Hansen
by Kuro49
Summary: Herc/Chuck. He wakes up with a ring on his finger. Or Hercules Hansen wakes up married to his twenty-one years old son he hasn't seen in four years, and that's not even half of his problems.


Dedicated to the lovely Hansencest/Martini community over on tumblr. This wouldn't exist without them, truly.

XXX

**Mr. & Mr. Hansen**

XXX

"I can't believe you made me do this."

"Oh, _fuck you_, old man."

Their psychologist deliberately coughs.

"Mr. and Mr. Hansen."

"Chuck." Mr. Hansen offers instead, and looks to the man sitting on the other side of the couch in warning. Alternatively, the other Mr. Hansen just scowls deeper. "_Stacks_, how long have you known me?"

Psychologist Stacker Pentecost stares evenly back.

"_Doctor_." Herc crosses his arms over his chest, "it's Herc."

"Good," Stacker pulls out a notepad and sits back, "let's start with the first question then."

.

There's history here, and there is not just a little amount of fanfare that comes along, but that's for later. For now though, Mr. Hansen meets his match in the city of Hong Kong.

"_Chuck_?"

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here, dad?"

"I can ask you the same thing." Many things run through his mind at the exact moment, like whether there are specks of blood over his face, but the shock of seeing his own son again sobers him right from that post-kill adrenaline haze. "Aren't you supposed to be in—"

"My internship's ending in Sydney, their branch company flew me here for an interview."

"When did that happen?"

"When you were too busy trying to send me away for college, _dad_."

"You know, that's not what I mea—"

"Done deal. What are you doing here?"

"The Program wants to expand, sent me here to see the preliminaries."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"What do you want me to say?" Chuck bristles under his father's gaze, his skin itching, and he knows it is not just because of the sniper rifle disassembled in his backpack, currently slung carelessly over his shoulder. Chuck is itching out of his skin because he really does want to be better, maybe just so he doesn't have to look at his father in the eyes and feel like a child all over again. "We haven't seen each other in four years."

"I know, son."

Herc knows he hasn't done the wrong thing when he pushed Chuck out of his life four years ago. But it's clear that Chuck's feelings hasn't changed, not one bit, that same fire burning just as bright when he is looking at him like this.

In this foreign city where no one knows them, no one alive that is, Herc lets himself be pulled into a kiss.

Neither notices the local police running by them.

.

It's not a shotgun marriage. Really.

But they do get married, that night. ("Hansen-Hansen?" The clerk had asked when they handed over their passports. They looked at each other and grinned. "Just Hansen.")

The next morning, Herc wakes up to an empty bed, fucked out in a way that hasn't happened for a long, long time. There are bruises up and down his body in the shape of a mouth he knows on muscle memory alone now. He wakes up with a ring on his finger, and it's really not so bad when he finds the note on the pillow next to him.

_Interview at 8, see you back in Oz._

.

"How long have you two been married?"

"Five?"

"Four years, and eight months."

Herc turns his head to Chuck, eyebrows furrowed. Stacker just makes a noise, and scribbles something down in his notepad.

And Chuck? Chuck resolutely does not turn to look at his dad.

.

The first round that goes off is explosive.

The shelves in the dining room come crashing down, and Chuck grins in the dark of their house because Herc _liked_ those ugly decorative plates with Australia's map stamped on them. Chuck may have been the one to start shooting, but this fight has been a long time coming, and that is on the _both_ of them.

"What kind of name is _Hercules_?"

"What kind of Australian calls himself _Chuck_?"

They don't mention the sealed PPDC personnel files, or Striker, or Eureka, or the numbers of kills under each of their belts. Or especially, just how Hercules Hansen has been handing out the assignments for a good while now and never once found out that his baby boy has been under his, despite however indirect, command for just as long.

And maybe they are getting angry over all the wrong reasons, at the very least they aren't working for competing agencies.

"Don't you _even_, old man!" And Chuck isn't so much as angry or annoyed, okay, so he is a little bit angry, he is also irritated with himself for not noticing all those lies. "You hid a gun in the _dog food_, what if Max got to it?!"

Herc is crouched behind the marble kitchen counter as he reloads his ammunitions. Every click has Chuck firing off several more rounds in his direction. He hisses when one manages to swipe against the skin of his arm. For that, he is going to shoot Chuck's Kaiju figures collection once he can get back into the living room.

"Well, he's just going to have to grow some thumbs to use it!"

There is an aggravated noise from across the room.

.

He is recruited into the Jaeger Program of an agency called PPDC in his second year of university.

Makes his first kill before his third. He accepts in part of his father's rejection, his promise that _there is more that this world has to offer you, kid, you don't want an old man like me_. Like there is any version of Charles Hansen's life that he could love his father any other way.

They give him the name Eureka, call him a moment of inspiration from the way he dug those double edged sting blades into the man's shoulders without give. They tell him he reminds them of someone else but they can't quite put a finger on who exactly.

PPDC wipes his life clean and constructs a new one.

He keeps the name, Chuck Hansen, though.

.

"At least I can get it up a second time!"

Chuck throws an expensive looking vase around the corner and hopes it's distracting enough as he darts across the room.

"You weren't complaining last night!"

"That's because we _finally_ fucked!"

"Well, if we're being honest, I've always hated your bomber jacket!"

"Good, 'cause I hate your Henleys just as much!"

"No, you don't."

Chuck bites the inside of his cheeks and fires off a couple more shots in the dark in irritation at just how well the old man knows him.

.

He is recruited into the Jaeger Program when Angela dies.

It's been more than a decade since, and he never wants this life for his kid. So he pushes and he pushes, and then Chuck disappears altogether. He never reaches out, doesn't dare, doesn't want to understand the way Chuck would look at him because that is not disgust twisting in his gut at the thought of his kid wanting to kiss him on his lips.

That is love.

Herc marks his kills and slowly moves up in ranks. Makes sure no one knows a thing of his past or the son that he hasn't seen in years, keeps him safe in ways he is still learning.

His last mission is Hong Kong, four years and eight months ago.

.

Herc winces as he steps on a squeaky dog toy, and then remembers he has to pick up Max from the vet the next morning. He may kill people for a living, but he has a heart. He is glad that at least the bulldog isn't here to see his favourite humans pulling out guns and knives for the kind of lovers' quarrel that usually ends with a bright red handprint across the face instead. Not a knife in the gut, or better yet, a shot in the head.

He turns the corner and comes face to face with Chuck.

There is a second of hesitance, but only because he's been doing this for so long. When the gun falls, it resounds in the air around them.

"You're a bastard, Herc."

Dad smiles at that.

"That's not going to get me to shoot you, Chuck."

"That's not what you were doing 10 seconds ago."

Chuck has his firearm levelled, perfect form, he doesn't waver and he barely flinches with Herc's next words.

"I know."

But his gun remains on the floor.

"I hate you so much."

Chuck breathes out. And Herc only nods with that thin smile across his lips.

When Chuck presses him back against the wall, there is something like understanding as he closes his eyes into the kiss. He runs a hand down his arm, fingers brushing over the cuts and bruises he's made of him. And for once, they're finally tangible.

He opens his mouth into the kiss, pushes the tip of his tongue to his, and their breathing comes in soft noises that has them going for their pants.

And another gun falls to the ground.

.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your marriage?"

"6.75." Chuck replies without a pause.

"What the hell does that .75 even mean?"

"6.75, _Herc_, means exactly that." And he says Herc's name like he says _dad_ in the confine of their own home.

"Is it the sex?"

"Why do you always think it's the sex?"

"So, it's _not_ the sex?"

"No. It's not _just_ the sex."

Herc lets out an aggravated noise. Stacker looks between them, and lowers his eyes to his notepad once more. "We can come back to this question during our next session."

.

There is an insistent knocking from the front door as they lay there in a tangle of fucked out limbs. The insides of Chuck's thighs are rubbed raw from Herc's stubbles and Herc's lips are bitten red and white. Chuck slides back just an inch, pauses in mapping another love bite against the freckled skin, and nudges the man with a knee.

"Go get it, old man."

"Too old, remember?"

"Oh, so now you admit you're old." Chuck rolls his eyes but gets up anyway, not before he runs his hands against all that skin though.

"Pants?"

"Fuck 'em."

He unlocks the front door and yanks it open with a scowl. There is a pause.

"Just a minute, officers."

Chuck closes the door and calls out. "Pass me my pants, will you?"

"Why?"

"Cops are here, come on. Get on your feet, old man."

"Don't call me that!"

"I call him daddy." Chuck smiles sweetly when he swings the door wide open once more, this time with one more article of clothing than none. The grey sweatpants hang low over his hips, it's a good thing the two of them are the same size because these threadbare clothes are definitely not _his_. (Not that he wears them any less.) "He calls me his baby b—"

"Noise complaint, right? We'll try to keep it down." Herc tells them with the blanket he swiped from the back of their bullet-ridden couch wrapped around his waist. Not that it hides any of the bruises across his chest. Or the way his head is a mess from the way Chuck loves to run his fingers through the ginger hair. "Will there be anything else, officers?"

"No, that's—that's all. And yes, do that, keep the noise down, mister?"

"Hansen."

The matching bands around their ring fingers don't go unnoticed by anyone.

"Goodnight, Mr. and Mr. Hansen."

Chuck gives them a short wave before he promptly shuts the door in front of their faces.

.

"Describe how you first met."

"Five—Four years and eight months ago. We were both in Hong Kong at the same time." Herc says, turning the wedding band around his finger.

"I was twenty-one."

"Do you think you rushed into this marriage at all, Chuck?"

There is a pause but when Chuck finally answers, he isn't looking at their marriage counsellor, he is looking at Herc.

"I knew what I wanted then, and I got it."

The turn of those lips is slight, but Dr. Stacker Pentecost has known Hercules Hansen for a long time, he knows a smile when he sees one.

"I still have it."

Chuck takes Herc's hand into his, and twists the silver band around once, twice. Infinity on repeat when he touches the skin with his own, and doesn't let go.

XXX Kuro

There are many things that were hand waved into non-existence. Like how I now know more about Hong Kong's marriage licences than I ever cared to, and no, you can't just get it within a day. OR THAT GAY MARRIAGE ISN'T EVEN LEGAL IN HONG KONG. Also, _logic_, so just pretend with me that it is entirely plausible for no one to realize that Herc and Chuck are related in the sense that they are father and son.

(I just wanted my cake and eat it too, that's why there's both incest and marriage.)


End file.
